


Some Folks Built Like This

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The song lyrics are, of course, by William James "Willie" Dixon (1915-1992).</p></blockquote>





	Some Folks Built Like This

_Some folk built like this, some folk built like that,  
But the way I'm built..._

John doesn’t realize he’s humming – let alone _what_ he’s humming – until Rodney snaps at him.

“Oh, very nice, Colonel!”  The tone is bitingly sarcastic.  Chin out, shoulders hunched – yeah, Rodney’s anger is for real.

It’s a pleasantly warm day on a pleasantly scenic planet.  The trade negotiations went well.  For once they’re not _running_ back to the Gate, bloody death nipping at their heels.  No, they’re walking.  Almost sauntering.  _Strolling_, because the sun is nice and things went _so_ well they’re going to get back to Atlantis ahead of schedule.  John’s looking forward to a fast debriefing, dinner with his team and a night spent with Rodney.  Maybe an evening _and_ a night, if he can winkle Rodney out of his lab early, and after _last_ night, John’s pretty sure of his winkling abilities where Rodney’s concerned.

Or _was_ sure, until thirty seconds ago.

Humming?  Completely not his fault.  But an angry Rodney has the potential to derail his plans, so John tries to defuse the situation.

“What, McKay?  Not a blues fan?  How about I hum Mozart and you hum Bach?”

Rodney’s not buying it.  “You’re free to hum anything you like, Sheppard, but using humming as an excuse to make thinly veiled _comments_ about other parties present stops being cool after the age of _twelve_, which come to think of it, is entirely typical of the level of maturity you _usually_ display.”

“I wasn’t humming _about_ anyone, McKay...”

“Ha!”

“...and even if I had been, that song’s written in the first person...”

“Right, as if anyone would think the lyrics applied to _you_.”

“...and anyway, you’re doing better at the speed thing, at least when someone’s chasing us.”

Oh, _hell_.

The moment the words are out of John’s mouth, he knows he’s made a mistake.  Rodney stops dead, hunches further, visibly closing in on himself.  Teyla and Ronon haven’t recognized the song, of course, but their expressions suggest they have _no_ problem recognizing that John has managed to get one of his size 12s into his mouth and jam it halfway down his throat.

The thing is, John knows that Rodney has more than his share of insecurities.  But he thought they’d already gotten that particular one out of the way.  He thought that Rodney _knows_ that as far as John’s concerned, Rodney has nothing to worry about when it comes to body image.

Apparently Rodney’s knowledge, while extending to include blues lyrics, has a few holes in it.

Rodney’s started walking again.  Teyla and Ronon haven’t.  Ronon looks bored, which probably indicates he’s finding the whole situation highly entertaining.  Teyla is looking pointedly at John, waiting for him to fix the screw-up he created.

For a moment, John fantasizes about doing just that.  On the spot.  Sending Teyla and Ronon on ahead to the Gate, so he’s alone with Rodney.  Pulling Rodney down onto the grass-like ground cover.  The broken stems would smell sweet in the sun.  John would undress Rodney, _unwrap_ Rodney, piece by piece, taking his time, showing his appreciation of Rodney’s body with hands, mouth, with everything he has to give, giving everything until Rodney can’t possibly _not_ understand what he does to John.

As fantasies go, this one’s pretty damn great, but the reality is that Rodney is still grumbling and still stomping onward along the path, neither noticing nor caring that the rest of the team has stopped.   

“Hey, McKay, wait up!”

Rodney stops, although he doesn’t look around.

“Hey, I’m sorry.  That was a stupid thing to say.  It’s, ah, it’s the sun or something.”

“I’d offer you some sunscreen, Colonel, but by now it’s too late – your brains are almost certainly _already_ fried _despite_ your ridiculous hair.”

John relaxes marginally at the insults.  If Rodney’s still talking to him, the situation’s reparable.

“That’s why we’ve got you along, buddy – unfried brains.  I’m here to shoot, fly things and get you back to Atlantis in one piece.”  John offers a smile.

Rodney doesn’t smile back, but when they all start walking again, he resumes his place alongside John.  He still looks hunched and unhappy, John’s apology only a field bandage for his injured feelings.

***

_I don't have no diamond, and I don't have no gold,  
But I've got a lot of lovin'..._

“...seem to imply that the best partner is not necessarily the most physically attractive or the richest in material wealth.”

John blinks at Teyla’s words as he sets his tray down on the table where she and Ronon are already eating.

“You’re giving Ronon dating advice?”

“Wanted to get it from someone who knows something,” Ronon explains.

“We are discussing the lyrics of the song you were humming earlier, John.  They are unexpectedly sensible.”

“How’d you get...  Oh, hell, you asked McKay, right?”  And _of course_ Rodney would have shared the lyrics.  Along with his own commentary.

But Ronon shakes his head.  “Hummed the tune to the Marines.  One of ‘em recognized it and showed me how to look up the words on the computer.”

John’s not sure which surprises him the most.  That Ronon can remember and hum a recognizable version of a tune he’s heard _once_?  That at least one of the Marines Ronon hangs out with apparently knows his blues?  That there’s a database of song lyrics on the Atlantis computers?

Ronon just grins at him and keeps on eating.

Speaking of eating...

“Where’s McKay?”

“I have not seen him since we got back, John.  He seems to have taken your song quite personally.”

“Rodney’s... sensitive about some things.  Okay, a lot of things.”

“You mean he thinks you think he’s fat.”

“Yeah, Ronon, that’s what I mean.”

“He’s not.”  Ronon takes another forkful of mystery meat and chews thoughtfully.  “He’s got solid shoulders and a nice ass.  What, Sheppard?  I’m just saying.”

John closes his mouth on the remark he was about to make before he’s quite figured out what he was going to say.  The corners of Teyla’s mouth are twitching suspiciously.  Basic Officer Training was not wasted on John.  He recognizes the moment for a strategic retreat.

“McKay’s probably hiding out in his lab.  I’ll take him a tray so he doesn’t pass out and break something irreplaceable when his head hits it.”

John’s proud of himself for sounding like a good team leader motivated by concern for one of his team members.

Teyla nods and replies solemnly, “Good luck, John.”

Ronon adds, “Radio if you need back-up.”

***

_Some folk rip and roar, some folk b'lieve in signs,  
But if you want me, you got to take your time..._

“Neither, Rodney.  You’re – god – neither,” John pants.

“What, Colonel, you’re not _comfortable_ right now?”

Hell, no, he’s not comfortable.  Comfort has long since abandoned the field to desperation.  Rodney – solid and sweaty, stubborn and vengeful – moves in and above John _just_ that much too slowly at _almost_, _not quite_ the right angle.  And there’s not one.  Damn.  Thing.  John can do about it.  When he tries to shift, to change the angle, to speed their pace, Rodney’s strong enough, _heavy_ enough to keep him from moving.

John’s a pilot, expert in moving through space and time, but he doesn’t know their secrets, not the way Rodney does.  John couldn’t, as Rodney is doing, paradoxically hold the two of them in this one unbearable moment and stretch that moment out as surely as his broad fingers had stretched John out earlier. 

No, John’s not comfortable, but he _wants_ this.  Rodney _makes_ him want it.  Rodney almost makes him forget that anything else exists.

And when Rodney decides to let the moment end, when John shatters into a million pieces under his touch, Rodney will be large enough and strong enough to hold all the pieces together until they have a chance to recoalesce.  Knowing that, John can make Rodney a gift of his desperation, can _let_ Rodney shatter him.  Can trust Rodney.  Can be patient as Rodney learns to trust _him_.  Learns to trust that John isn’t, will never let himself be, one of the people who’s hurt Rodney.

For that, John can be patient.  For other things?

“Rodney, _please_.  Let me.  Let _us_.”

_Us_.  That’s the word that seems to reach Rodney, to _finally_ get him moving faster and then faster again, finally, perfectly _there_, driving them both onward and upward towards that shattering end.  And when they reach it – John first, Rodney right behind him – it’s not just John’s body clenching around Rodney, trying to keep hold of him forever, it’s _more_ of John, something _deeper_ in John.  He’s not ready yet to put a name to it, not even to himself.  But he will someday.  And someday, he’ll tell Rodney.

***

_And I don't got no diamonds, don't have no gold,  
Got a lot of lovin' to satisfy your soul.  
I'm built for comfort, I ain't built for speed,  
But I got everything all the good girls need._

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are, of course, by William James "Willie" Dixon (1915-1992).


End file.
